Capsized
by The Bad Joke
Summary: If Arthur Kirkland told anyone that he did not miss the good ol' days, he would be telling a lie. Pirate!England. Conquistador!Spain. Human names used.


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**Capsized  
**_and falling out to sea_

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If Arthur Kirkland told anyone that he did not miss the good ol' days, he would be telling a lie.

Of course he misses sailing the open sea with his idiotic (yet strangely loveable) crew, fleeing with armfuls of spoils from the authorities, and having a go at any woman that caught his eye. He was so young back then; nothing seemed to matter except for the things he desired most. He almost always got what he wanted. He was quite a brat, really. Both indelicacy and arrogance played upon his handsome features in such a shrewd mix that they gave him a air of greatness. His exaggerated charm and craft made no task too difficult for him to accomplish. He could literally outsmart any man on land or sea.

Well, perhaps not every man.

There was only one person who ever managed to get the better of him. A Spaniard that went by the name of Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, or something ridiculously drawn-out like that. The two had encountered each other several times while cruising the waters. It was Arthur who usually began the completely unnecessary fights that erupted between them. When the Englishman's ship was within a reasonable distance of the Spaniard's, he would shout out particularly cruel insults. One could argue that Antonio took a little too much offense to some of the things Arthur said, but no matter, they would dock ships and small groups of fights would break out. Arthur's crew understood how he operated; no one was to touch the Spaniard except for the captain.

With his sword in hand, he would hop ships and arrive at one of Antonio's blind spots in a matter of seconds, ready to attack. Sometimes the two of them would go on for hours, dodging and blocking, not finding any contentment until the silver of a sword made content with flesh (whether it be their attacker's of their own).

Sometimes England would win, sometimes he wouldn't. But on the occasions he had managed to defeat Antonio's crew, his own crew would bind and toss the lot of them into the raging waters. Of course, except for Antonio; Arthur let him watch. Twisted or not, it was rather enjoyable watching which ones would sink or (attempt to) swim. Antonio would grit his teeth. Arthur just laughed.

After the rest of them had made their way off of the ship and into the water, Arthur would personally walk Antonio to the plank. Arthur grabbed his bounded arms firmly, letting Antonio's body lean forward stiffly as he attempted to keep his balance, which did not make much of a difference anyway; if Arthur let go of him, he would surely fall without a chance of staying aboard.

And then Arthur Kirkland would offer what he always offered when the Spaniard ended up in this predicament:

"Just beg me, Antonio. Maybe if you ask pretty please, I won't leave you here to swallow up salt water and drown. What do you say?"

"Fuck you."

Every time.

"That's a shame."

At that moment, as Antonio's only lifeline, he would gracefully let go of the other man without a second thought. Between the moments of keeping the most pathetic kind of balance and falling, Antonio would be kicked by Arthur full and hard on his chest, making his way down faster and more painful than necessary. While trying to fight the water and unbind himself at the same time, he would hear Arthur laugh as he left him and his crew to drown.

But even if half of his crew did not survive the water, Antonio would always come back in one piece. He never knew how.

On the rare occasions when Antonio picked the fights instead, he made sure that Arthur got his just deserts. After gaining a much desired win, Antonio and his crew would tie up Arthur and his band of idiots and drag them onto the Spanish ship. From there, Antonio sailed the ship to the nearest port in England and dropped off the so-called greatness that was England and his crew. The English authorities, in a mist of confusion, would grab the resisting scoundrels to throw them into the closest prison. While Antonio turned the ship back around, he watched Arthur's face contort into anger as he was being dragged away. He would laugh at the stupid Englishman's reaction all the way back to Spain.

But Arthur forced himself to settle down. He had been thrown into jail and sentenced to hang for his crimes at sea countless times, so the threat of death did not frighten him at all by that point. Even though his shipmates weren't always so lucky, he had always managed to escape the noose. He was too clever to let some silly piece of rope end him.

Escape always meant rallying up a new crew and stealing a new ship. By the time he was at sea again, life resumed its exciting routine. When things were going particularly well, he had managed to steal from the finest ships in all of Europe, which contained the best of treasures. The more fascinating treasures he acquired, the more money he was able to get ahold of. And that meant a whole new world of luxuries. Fine food, clothes and women were among the few objects that always held his affections. He loved how the food tasted in his mouth and how the clothes fitted him, but the women had to be the best part. He could afford the most expensive, most beautiful prostitutes. Faces decorated in light makeup, hair luscious and bouncing around in tight curls, sparkling eyes, glimmering lips, and voluptuous breasts blooming underneath elaborate dresses and corsets.

Even when things were more on the down side, he still could afford women. Only the common prostitute, sure. But still, something was better than nothing. Being on a ship, stranded in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of smelly men eventually made him realize how desperately he wanted a female companion. Having a woman around would be refreshing; it was not uncommon for the idea to bug his mind for hours at a time. There were plenty of women back in England that swooned over him. Some even confessed their love to him. Getting a woman wouldn't be the problem, the problem would be keeping her away from all of the other men.

That drew the line for him. There would be no way in Hell this woman would not be sexually assaulted every five seconds. It was then that the idea finally eased itself out of his mind completely. As long as he remained a rebel, he would be a loner. That's just how it had to be.

Funny, he is still so alone, even after stuffing his feathered hat and prized sword into the deepest depths of his closet. Things have changed though. One day while sitting on the deck, staring up at the bright lights that illuminated the dark sky, he had an epiphany: what he was doing was absolutely barbaric and wrong. He was stupid. And he said this to himself aloud, repeating the sentence over and over again.

_I am stupid. I am stupid. I am stupid. I am so stupid. _

The next morning, he told his crew the same thing - addressing both himself and them. He could see the anger and sense of betrayal on each and every one of their sunburnt faces. And then, the unthinkable happened: they tied him up and forced him to walk the plank, a steady sword drawn towards his lower back. Without fear or regret, he jumped. He promised himself that once the water enveloped him in its cold embrace, he would let go of the old him. And he did.

Unable to swim with his arms bounded, he had to float on his back and let the water determine his fate. _To shore?_ the water seemed to ask him. He just kept nodding his head ever so slightly. By the time it was nightfall, he was desperately whispering _please_, praying the water would hear him.

When he woke up, he was not in the water anymore, but rather the shore of a small island. There was a dark brown crab standing inches away from his face, observing the creature it was trying to determine was alive or dead. Arthur blew a light gust of wind in its direction, and it went on its way. When he was finally able to free himself, he removed his large scarlet coat and worn boots and went on a mission to find food.

He caught one fish.

While eating his half-cooked meal, he stared off at the sea. No boats. No land. No nothing. He was completely stranded. He wondered how many long days or weeks Antonio was stuck on an island similar to this one because of Arthur. He wondered if he had to float on his back too when his arms were tied, and wait for the water to take him to land.

He was stuck on the island for twenty-one days. He was starting to grow facial hair, something that always irked him. Still, he was content with this island. It was not the most comfortable place to live, but that did not mean it was not liveable. If he had to stay here for the rest of his life, that would be perfectly alright with him.

On the twenty-second day, a ship was within his range of sight, and the people on board seemed to see him as well. As it came closer, Arthur realized that it was a Spanish ship. Antonio's ship. The thought of running somewhere and hiding occurred to him once or twice, but he pushed it aside. Hiding would not solve anything. He patiently awaited for the ship to stop. He half expected for it to turn around, but it never did. Because the water was too shallow, the ship stopped several hundred feet from the shore. He could make out Antonio and a couple other men dropping down into a rowboat and heading for the island. When Antonio and the others finally approached him, he didn't know what to expect.

Antonio was the first one to speak.

"Whatcha doing all the way out here, amigo?" His voice was sincerely friendly, not full of sarcasm like Arthur had imagined it. He was taken so aback from this, that he really didn't know what to say. The first thing that came to his mind was:

"I felt like going for a swim," he started, his voice rough with disuse, "but my crew forgot about me and I got lost."

"I think that's called karma," the Spaniard laughed full-heatedly, in a way that was kind and bubbly. _He's so charming_. Arthur wondered why he ever started to hate this man.

"What's that?" he said, returning Antonio's attempt at humor.

The Spaniard looked at him in confusion, but only for the briefest moment before laughing. Arthur joined him. The other Spanish men just appeared to be entertained, if anything. When their laughter finally died down, Antonio offered his hand to Arthur.

"We're heading back to Spain now. Maybe if you beg me, I'll let you come with us and not stay here to live off of seafood for the rest of your life. I might even be nice enough to drop you back off in England," he said with a playful smile. "What do you say?"

Seriously, why did he ever dare to hate this man?

All Arthur could manage to do was smile, really smile, back at him and say:

"That sounds nice."

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I love Pirate!England and Conquistador!Spain. Seriously, I do. They are so alluring. But, anyway, feel free to share your thoughts. If you liked it, tell me what you liked about it. If you hated it, tell me what you hated about it. Or just feel free to lurk. Whatever floats your boat. In the meantime, I feel like writing a Gerita fanfiction. Excuse me while I flail with fangirlish (no, that's not a real word) delight.


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